


fix the broken butterflies

by janie_tangerine



Series: mutants in westeros [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Wild Cards - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Wings, BAMF Brienne, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Mutants, Spoilers for Book 3 - A Storm of Swords, The Author Regrets Nothing, Timeline What Timeline, Wings, canon-like J/C that eventually results in canon-like breaking up, god i actually did write more of that ridiculous mutants au AH WELL THEN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:39:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: where the entirety of Westeros turns into mutants and it’s not good news for most of them.Also, where Jaime and Brienne still go on their road trip in which their mutations change some things while others remain as they were and every other Lannister in King's Landing has mutation-related issues to deal with.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ...Hi. Remember that time I wrote the throbb ASOIAF/Wild Cards crossover where - after altering the acok timeline - people became mutants? I always wanted to do some more in that verse first and foremost the JB sequel. Apparently it took me ALMOST THREE DAMNED YEARS BUT I GOT THERE.
> 
> Now, rehashing what I had said on the previous fic but it's been years so better to reiterate: GRRM, other than ASOIAF, has… another fantasy/scifi series going on. It’s named [Wild Cards](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wild_Cards) and it’s a shared universe – basically it’s him and his friends co-writing a ridiculous number of multiple POV books. The Wikipedia link should provide enough background info on the original work if anyone wants to check that out, but still, the premise is: a virus that rewrites human DNA (named wild card in the original canon) hits the US/NYC/the world. Nine people on ten who catch it die, and out of ten survivors nine mutate into deformed creatures (named jokers in the original canon) and one gets the cool superpowers (and those’d be aces), with the small print that most aces have a life that sucks even if they have the cool powers. That’s everything you need to know to understand what’s going on here. For this I kept the original cards-related denominations since research showed that they’d have been plausible in a middle ages setting.
> 
> That was for the basic premise. Regarding this specific fic: you really don't need to read the first installment in the series to get this one, just be aware that Theon has a mutation that gets him to absorb memories of people he touched and in the previous one he used it to warn Robb about the RW (turning the entirety of the war around) because PLOT HAPPENED and he shook hands with Tywin before, and Stannis and Renly allied early into acok alternate canon. And some other plot details changed since the premise is that the comet that showed up at the beginning of ACOK was what turned everyone into mutants but this one follows canon more closely than the other so really you just need to know people suddenly have superpowers. Or in this case, that Brienne got a p. useful mutation and Jaime a fairly ridiculous one that I'm not disclosing because it's probably better not spoiled. Other than that, nothing belongs to me and the title is from Lucinda Williams.
> 
> Last warning: this is basically following the JB asos arc so like, expect a lot of the same stuff along with canon-typical violence. There's some JC up until I broke them up a bit more neatly than GRRM did but as stated, same as canon. (Probably less tbh.) Aaand okay I'm done. Have fun. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~(I also had plans for wall fic for this verse at least so we shall see.)~~

The night is dark in King’s Landing when Tyrion Lannister walks on the top of the Tower of the Hand and looks down at the gardens.

The night is also pretty quiet, all things considered. Well, it’s been quiet since the plague, of course, but what would you expect when most of the population is thrown into one single slum? He should do something about that, but it’s not like he can, not when Cersei is still watching his moves like a hawk. Well, as far as she can, obviously, which is a lot less than she could before, and isn’t Tyrion happy about _that_.

He also supposes that he shouldn’t gloat at the card Cersei drew, or at the one his father drew, but he kind of can’t help it. After all, they spent their entire life laughing at _him_ , so he supposes that his turn has come.

Sure, he can’t exactly tell _them_ or anyone that he wasn’t as unaffected as they think, or as the realm thinks for that matter, but then again he was lucky for once and he’s going to keep this for himself as long as he can.

He smiles to himself as he opens the window of his room and then carefully takes off his clothes. He folds them and places them on the nearest chair, then closes his eyes and thinks, _a golden one this time_.

One moment, he’s standing there.

The next one, a small dragon with golden scales is flying outside the tower and across the sky, careful not to draw too much attention.

He _really_ was lucky, drawing this specific card. After all, it’s everything he’s ever wanted, isn’t it? Maybe he’s not a _full-scale_ dragon when he turns, but that’s better – he’s less noticeable and he can fly during the night without danger.

No, he’s not telling any of his relatives about it anytime soon. He wishes he could tell Jaime though – he knows that _he_ would at least be glad for him. Since he was the only one _knowing_ about how much Tyrion wanted to see a dragon. And he wouldn’t tell anyone else, except that Jaime isn’t here now. The only thing Tyrion knows for sure is that he’s _not_ dead – Robb Stark wouldn’t have the means to keep such a thing hidden, so he must have survived the sickness. Tyrion needs to try and find a middle ground here – since _he_ ’s the one in charge, he _will_ find some way to organize an exchange. After all, their illustrious father’s condition is worsening – the more time passes, the more he changes, and he already can’t be seen in public anymore. Who even cares about his plans and the whole _backstabbing Robb Stark_ idea that he’s been brewing lately.

Cersei might back him up, since the point is rescuing _Jaime_ , and she can hardly be seen in public either.

Tyrion wonders, though. If he survived, what card did he draw? It doesn’t take a maester’s chain to put two and two together – the cards aren’t _random_. They’re random in the _way_ they change people. But in Tyrion’s case, his childhood dreams became reality, while Cersei… well, for someone so proud of her looks, she _did_ lose a fundamental part of them. And his father looks like a thrice-damned skeleton these days, which _is_ entirely too fitting, in a negative way.

Jaime – well. It’s no secret what everyone _thinks_. But Tyrion also knows that Jaime is a lot better than what everyone thinks.

He really would like to know what card he drew.

He hopes it was a good one.

\--

“Wench, you know, if you _used_ those, maybe we’d be in King’s Landing already. You ever thought of that?”

“How about you keep your mouth shut, _Kingslayer_?”

“Why, is that a sore point? One would think you’d _like_ them.”

“Really.”

“Well, there _is_ a part of you that’s nice to look at.”

“How hilarious. Keep walking.”

Well, he tried.

It’s not like Jaime wanted to rile her up _too much_ , but damn it, after poor cousin Cleos passed away during their journey, it’s been entirely too boring and of course Catelyn Stark couldn’t saddle him with an escort with an actual sense of humor.

She _did_ look a bit hurt at that, though. And well – fine. That was a particularly mean thing to say, and also not entirely true – she does have astonishing eyes, after all so the wings aren’t the only thing she has going for her.

Well, that she’d have going for her if she didn’t keep them hunched against her back. Pity, because he did see them spread a couple times while they were eating in the evenings, and the darned things _are_ quite astonishing themselves. They’re _huge_ , for one. And the same shade of blue as her eyes. She could have gotten it a lot worse, as far as the whole wild card business is concerned.

Surely he’d have picked wings over _his_ own card, and good thing that it’s nothing people can see outwardly. With little effort he might just keep it hidden for good throughout the rest of his life without anyone ever finding out, and that’d better be the case since his image _would_ be quite shattered if the truth were to come out.

Gods, better not even think about that. He should just try to rile the wench up some more, and good thing that at least Lady Stark saw fit to try and exchange him with her precious daughters even if her precious son probably wouldn’t have agreed with that plan.

“Really, what’s the point of wings if you don’t _use_ them?”

“What’s the point of laughing at the oaths _you_ swore?”

Damn, she really _is_ stuck on the damned oaths.

If only she knew.

“If I waste my honor it doesn’t mean you should waste _that_. Do you know how many people would like to fly?”

“I can’t use them to fly, _kingslayer._ How about you save your breath now?”

This is going to be a long journey, he thinks, but thinking that Cersei will be at the end of it is enough to make him decide to shut his mouth and endure this.

For now, anyway.

\--

 _She’s stronger than I am_ , he thinks as the wench matches each of his blows, and for a moment he thinks, _what if I –_ , but then decides that it’s unbecoming of him.

He’s never won a fight by cheating and he’s not going to start now, _especially_ considering how bloody embarrassing it would be. Never mind that _he likes this_. This is what he was born to do, match her blows while their blades kiss once and twice and then all over again. He’s never felt so alive as when he fights and it’s no wonder that _finally_ for the first time in a year his blood is singing and even if he’s chained, he’s still good enough. She’ll provide enough entertainment.

Or at least, that’s what he thinks until he realizes that she’s not getting tired and not backing down, and this when she’s basically dragging those wings behind her like they’re not even there and pretty much making herself weaker. For a moment, he thinks that if she only used the damn wings instead of dragging them around like dead weight she could be even _better_ , and the thing is that she might be ugly as sin but she’s _good_ , and with all her talking about being a knight and so on she could be so much better. If only she embraced the damned things.

Never mind that he’d beat her bloody if only his wrists weren’t chained –

And then she’s made him lose his footing and they’re falling into the stream, and she’s telling him to _yeld_ and then someone laughs.

It’s what looks like a group of bandits.

“Well met, friends,” he says. “Seems like you caught me chastising my wife. Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“Seemed to me like it was the other way around,” one of the men says, coming closer.

Jaime moves up to his feet and he realizes these ones aren’t just bandits. From how they look, they must be mercenaries. Looking at them better –

Fuck. _The Brave Companions_ , and fuck whoever it is that hired them. Seems like the sickness didn’t kill most of them. A few have some visible deformations, but that’s about it.

Damn it.

“Who commands here?” He asks, hoping to solve this nicely.

“That’d be me, _Ser Jaime_.” The man coming forward is so pale he looks like a damned corpse. “Urswyck the Faithful. At _your service_.”

“You know who I am?”

“You are a famous man, m’lord.”

 _Even worse._ “Well, then you know I’m worth a _lot_ and we always pay our debts. The wench is also highborn. She might give you a good ransom.”

“How fortunate. Too bad that I think you missed _something_ while in Riverrun.”

“What?”

“That we’re in Roose Bolton’s service right now. He’s currently Lord of Harrenhaal.”

“By what leave? Robb Stark’s?”

“Not our business.”

“Wow, and _I_ have shit for honor.”

“Nevertheless, we are to bring you to Harrenhaal and see what are his orders.”

And before either of them can protest, a few of those bloody mummers move ahead and hit him in the damned face.

At least it takes four of them to take Brienne down, now that it’s a consolation since by the end both of them are spitting blood.

Jaime would have told her that she should have just fucking armed him, but he can’t because a moment later the only _Brave Companion_ he had seen missing comes into his view. Fucking Vargo Hoat, he thinks. That piece of filth was never good for anything –

“What a coincidence,” he says. “I thall be glad to ask your father a ranthom. It’th nothing you can thpit on thethe days. However, maybe your father needs a methage. And we can’t have you running away, can we?”

 _No_ , Brienne shouts as she sees the man take out a large, curved blade.

For a moment, Jaime thinks, _he just wants to scare me_.

Then someone else grabs his wrist, pulls him forward making him crash on the ground, and his arm can’t move and the blade comes _down_ –

And Jaime screams.

\--

“Are you so craven?” She asks, her voice low but hard as steel, and his first instinct is spitting in her thrice-damned ugly face, but –

She’s right. Lannisters don’t let themselves die without a fight. _She’s right_. And now that he looks at her, he notices that the wings aren’t secured to her back anymore. They’re laying on the ground, limp, the feathers half-torn out, and damn if it isn’t a sad sight. He doesn’t know if that hurts or not. Could it hurt half as much as his missing hand does?

He has no idea, but he eats all of the sorry excuse for food they give him.

He vomits half of it later. His mouth still tastes of fucking horse piss. He _stinks_. The next evening he’s about to give up on that promise to himself, because he _wants_ to live but this is too fucking much, and then –

He feels something soft brush over his cheek.

He opens his eyes and sees blue feathers.

He opens them some more and strains against the chains binding his wrists together to sit up just a bit and –

Yes. It’s one of her wings. It’s slowly moving up and down his cheek, and even if half of her feathers are ruined, they’re still soft as dawn and _warm_.

“Wench, what in the seven hells…?” He croaks. No one even hears him. All the Bloody Mummers are too busy getting drunk to pay attention to them.

“I didn’t know I could do it,” she replies, staring at the ground below her. “No one deserves what they’re doing to you,” she adds a moment later, and she has to stop when she hears one of their jailers shout that they’ll check up on them, but – it felt _nice_. It was the first touch that didn’t feel absolutely horrid and miserable that Jaime’s experienced since he left Cersei last.

He doesn’t know how to ask her to do it again when they have the chance.

When she falls asleep, she probably doesn’t notice the white butterfly perching over her brow for a handful of moments before flying away and Jaime doesn’t even realize it was there at all until it flies right in front of his face.

\--

“Just _go away inside_ ,” Jaime hisses at her, and the stubborn damned woman says that of course she won’t, and Jaime wishes her card was seeing inside someone’s head because _then_ he’d show her what he remembers of Aerys Targaryen’s relationship to his poor wretched lady wife, and _then_ she’d think about going away inside all over again.

But what’s the point of crying over it? He knows she’s too proud and stubborn to do anything else, and he kind of maybe admires her a bit for it because the gods know _he_ couldn’t last half a year without _going somewhere else_ , and then he thinks about what they’ll do to her. He can entirely imagine Vargo Hoat holding on to those magnificent wings of hers, maybe tearing out the remaining good feathers, or maybe _breaking_ them, and he thinks about all the times she’s reached out with the tips of her wings and touched him, or of the one time when she managed to wrap one around his shoulders for a bit before they could notice, and about how warm and soft they felt.

He screams _sapphires._

Then he screams some more, and no words come out of his mouth. He feeds her the bullshit about Lannisters always paying their debts later and doesn’t tell her, _I couldn’t let them ruin you more than you are already ruining yourself_ , because that’s what she’s doing, with all this running after oaths and knightly dreams.

Those dreams ruined _him_ and they’ll ruin her as well, and as a red butterfly perches on his left hand and he doesn’t even try to make it go away, he thinks, _it really is a damn pity_.

\--

Cleaned up and groomed a bit, those wings are _truly_ beautiful.

They take up half of the tub where she’s sitting, and maybe he should have chosen another, but he felt like riling her up some more, now that he doesn’t feel like he’s going to die at every moment.

He doesn’t know how it goes from that to telling her _why_ he slew his king.

He doesn’t know why, out of everyone, he wants _her_ to know. He doesn’t know why the story comes out of his mouth in front of her when he could never share it with Cersei or Tyrion or _anyone else_.

He’s pretty sure she doesn’t notice the ten or so butterflies flying around, close to the ceiling.

Her eyes go wider and wider as he keeps on talking, and gods but maybe she’ll stop telling him that he has shit for honor after this, and he doesn’t even know _why_ it matters even a bit that she’d judge him differently, but somehow it _does_ and he can’t think about it any further because _then_ he’s fucking fainting because it’s too hot and he can still remember Aerys’s insane, screechy laugh like it was yesterday, and then he –

He never falls.

Her wings catch him before her arms do, and he finds himself kept up by soft, wet feathers before her arms close around his shoulders, _so gentle, gentler than Cersei_ , and she looks like she’s calling for help but he shakes her head and tells her not to, not for now. She nods once and keeps on holding him upright, and he should probably care that they’re both wet and naked and that there are at least ten butterflies perching on her shoulders, but he can’t.

\--

_He’s standing, with both hands held up in front of him. He doesn’t even notice he’s naked until later, because he’s too worried flexing and curling the fingers of his right hand over and over again – gods, doesn’t it feel good. He thinks he had a dream where it was maimed. Good thing it wasn’t the case._

_A dark green butterfly lands on his wrist – he shrugs it away._

_He tries to figure out where he is, but it’s clear after moments – right. The Rock, underneath it. The crypts where he used to go find Tyrion way back in the day. There are stairs in front of him he doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t think he wants to go down, but the door behind him is bolted and a few of the damned butterflies are swarming towards the stairs._

_He figures he has no choice, and walks downward._

_He has a very bad feeling about this. He doesn’t like it, and he wishes he had a sword on him, but he doesn’t. Well, he has his right hand, though. Better than nothing._

_The steps are regular, or at least they looked so, because as he descends he suddenly finds nothing instead of marble, and it’s too late – he falls, but it’s not for long. He ends up on his knees in the middle of a puddle of cold water._

_Nothing that he hasn’t seen under Casterly, but he doesn’t remember this specific part of the caverns._

_“Where am I?” He asks, not expecting an answer._

_“In your place,” his father’s voice replies, and he moves on his feet as he sees a hooded figure come out of the shadows, and Cersei near him._

_She also has a hood covering her head, and her eyes are cold. Why?_

_“Cersei, why are we here?” He asks, when neither of them speaks._

_“We? This is your place, Jaime. It’s your darkness. Not mine.” She has a torch in her hand, the only light in it, and then her hood falls down, and – why is her head shaved?_

_She turns her back to him and leaves without a word._

_Same as his father._

_“Seven hells, if only I had a sword,” he says, and_ then _one appears just at his feet. He reaches down and takes it in his right hand. Another of those damned butterflies lands on it before fluttering away._

_The blade suddenly burns with blue light, and Jaime has no clue of what’s going on but at least he’s not completely in the dark anymore._

_Seven hells. He needs to get out. If he’s in the Rock maybe Cersei is here, and he’s been away from her too long. He needs to be out, he needs –_

_He hears steps. More than one person. He turns and walks in the direction the sound comes from, also because he cannot go back as much as he wants to, and then –_

_Then he finds himself in front of the Kingsguard. The Kingsguard he joined. Along with Prince Rhaegar, but he’s not the way Jaime remembers him._

_Because prince_ _Rhaegar’s body is covered in dragon scales, and he can’t see the faces of the other members of the Kingsguard properly, because Arthur Dayne’s armor shines so bright Jaime can barely bring himself to look at him, and at everyone else surrounding him._

_He can see it, though, when everyone draws their own swords._

_“He was your King,” Jon Darry says._

_“You sword to keep him safe,” Oswell Whent adds._

_“He was going to burn the city,” Jaime replies, but his voice sounds feeble to him, as well. “He would have only left ashes –”_

_“And you swore to keep the children safe,” ser Lewyn Martell says, and_ no, no _–_

_“I left my wife and children in your hands,” Prince Rhaegar says, his voice sounding so cold it makes Jaime’s blood chill at once._

_“I never thought they’d be hurt –” Jaime says, but it’s weak, and he knows it, and why is his sword’s light fading? “I was with the king….”_

_“Killing him. Cutting his throat. The one you had sworn to die for.” Jaime did_ not _need Arthur to say that, he didn’t – “Jaime, we all swore oaths,” he adds sadly, and then they all turn their backs on him and leave as his sword’s light dims._

_“Don’t leave me here,” he screams, because right now even their company would be better than nothing in this insufferable darkness, and then two things happen._

_A pale pink butterfly lands down on his hand and Brienne of Tarth appears in front of him, her hands bound, naked as the day she was born and blue, majestic wings flapping slowly in the cold air._

_“Give me a sword, ser, I swore an oath,” she says, and then her shackles fall down and a sword pulsing with brighter blue light appears in between her big, calloused hands as the brightness in Jaime’s fades away entirely._

In this light, she could almost be a knight, _Jaime thinks as she comes up next to him._ But gods, right now, she _does_ look beautiful _, he can’t help attaching to that stray thought. Maybe no one else would think her such, but her body is all lithe swordsman’s muscles, those pretty, big eyes are glowing blue in the dark along with those gorgeous big wings, the same shade of blue as her (his?) sword._

_“I could fly you out,” she says, thoughtfully, and he wants to answer_ yes yes yes do it _, please do it, I need to be out I don’t want to be here anything but this, please get me out, I don’t_ -

He wakes up, the weirwood root pressing against his back, and he knows he can’t leave her behind.

“I left something at Harrenhaal,” Jaime says, and whatever protests come after, he doesn’t hear them.

\--

So maybe jumping into a bear pit was a foolish idea.

Then again, Brienne is being even more foolish – never mind that the pink gown suits her horribly and is all torn into shreds, she’s been fighting with a tourney sword and carrying that dead weight that are her unused wings around – it would have been a miracle if she had lasted much longer.

“What are you doing?” She screams at him. “Get behind me, I have the sword!”

“No, _you_ get behind me, or didn’t you notice that it’s not a sword at all?”

And she knows that, it’s obvious, and Jaime knows that trying to throw sand at that bear won’t do much good, but he tries anyway.

It fails miserably, of course, also because _he misses_ , and the thing is, he had been hoping that Steelshanks and the other idiots in his party might kill the bear for him, but he can’t know for sure and it’s getting angry – he can see it.

He turns and sees that Brienne is staring down at her wings, looking panicked and with her hands clenched into fists, and –

 _Hells, she’s trying to use them, isn’t she_ , and it’s blatantly not working out, and he doesn’t have a sword, not that it’d do him much good, does he?

“Damn it,” he sighs, “I guess it’s time.”

“To _die_?”

“Not quite so, wench,” Jaime says, then he takes a deep breath.

 _You won,_ he thinks. _You won, damn you all. Come on, show me you aren’t as bloody useless as I think you are._

For a moment, nothing happens.

And then a storm of butterflies rushes into the bear pit, out of who in the seven hells knows where, and they swarm all around the bear, covering its eyes and face completely, and even if the poor beast rages again, he can’t see where he’s going. It roars and even more butterflies come in, until there’s a swarm twice the size of the bear’s head around it.

“What –” Brienne says, but Jaime doesn’t let her finish.

“How about we _get out of here instead_ ,” he screams, and she moves at once, heading for the only viable way out of the pit – she climbs on the stairs, even if she’s stumbling in the tatters of her dress. He helps hoist her up and then she grabs his wrists and tugs them upwards until they’re safely outside, and just then the butterflies leave the bear be, dissipating away where they came from.

Jaime finds himself face to face with Vargo Hoat.

“Well, I got the not so fair maiden. Are you still one, I hope?”

“Yes, but –”

“Good, I only rescue maidens. And with this, Hoat, I will assume that you don’t want to let the realm know _how_ that bear was defeated as much as I do, so how about we agree that no one in this pitiful audience ever speaks of it again?”

Hoat grimaces and doesn’t try to stop him, and Jaime just shrugs and leaves, figuring that now he’ll have to answer her bloody questions and it’s the last thing on this earth he wants to do.

But then –

“Ser Jaime,” she says, and – wait.

_How did she just call him?_

“I am truly thankful,” she keeps on, “but you were well away. Why come back?”

Oh, if only she knew. If only. There are a lot of things he could say. He could tell her that he owed her a debt, he could blurt out one of the cruel quips everyone thinks are as cruel as he _is_ , he could –

But he looks at her face, at her soiled pink dress, at her blue wings tiredly fluttering just a tiny bit in the air, and he sees the azure butterfly landing on her shoulder the moment she asks that question.

So, he sighs once, shakes his head and says, “I dreamed of you.”

\--

“So – your card –”

“Wench, don’t you dare.”

“I just –”

“You _saw_ it. Yes, that’s it. Yes, I know it’s hardly becoming of the _kingslayer_.”

“Ser, that wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“ _… What_ were you going to say then?”

She looks at him, then down at her hands, then back at him. “That it kind of becomes you.”

“… _Sorry_?”

“Ser,” she starts, and he can see her blushing _hard_ , but she’s still holding his stare. “What you just did, not – not many people would think of doing the same for anyone. Least of all someone you don’t care for.”

He says nothing, but _something_ tells him to tell her it’s not true.

 _What is he even fucking thinking_?

“Wench –”

“You told me something you never told anyone else,” she interrupts. “Didn’t you?”

He shrugs. “I might have. What of it?”

“May I do the same with you?”

“If you’d like.” It’s not as if he has any better option – they’re stopping for the night and he’s not feeling like sleeping anytime soon.

“When I picked up a sword, I wanted – to be like the knights in the songs.” And _that_ , Jaime had guessed even too well. “I never thought I’d be the maiden.”

She didn’t say _fair_ maiden, Jaime notices. He can imagine why.

“I think,” she goes on, “that care for your _honor_ more than you let on. And that you have more of that than you think.”

“ _What_ –”

“Ser, I can’t think of anyone who’d have risked their life for _mine_. Not like that. I don’t know what it says about you that you spent _years_ letting people assume you have no honor nor care for your duties and then you – do something like _that_ , but if it’s worth anything, I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“For thinking you were shaming the cloak you wear without knowing the full story.”

Jaime doesn’t have a fucking clue of what he should say, hearing that.

Hells, he’s _forgotten_ completely that once upon a time he’d have wept in joy at the prospect of someone acknowledging it in front of him.

“And,” Brienne goes on, moving slightly closer, with the face of someone who’s gathering courage to do something they hadn’t thought they ever would, “ _thank you_.”

She leans forward and presses her cracked lips to his cheek before moving away in haste and heading back towards her tent, dragging her wings behind her.

Jaime’s hand goes to his cheek – it feels as if he got _burned_ in the point she did that, _what was that_ – and when a blue butterfly lands on his hand, he doesn’t even bother shrugging it away.

She said, _I never thought I’d be the maiden_.

It’s somewhat sad and at the same time it makes him want to laugh bitterly that he forgot when he last thought he’d get to be a proper knight for real.

Probably it was when Arthur Dayne thought he had the potential for it.

Jaime doesn’t know how he should feel about that, or what does it even say about him, or if it says anything about his damned wild card.

He stands up and goes to sleep instead. Soon he’ll be back in King’s Landing, soon he’ll be back with Cersei and soon he’ll leave this entire madness behind him.

He goes to sleep thinking about _finally_ seeing his sweet sister again after so long and doesn’t remember his dreams when he wakes up the morning after.

\--

When they finally walk into King’s Landing, he can’t help noticing that it looks like a dead city in comparison to how it was when he left it.

Then he remembers that a good part of the people who survived the sickness got thrown into the former Flea Bottom, and the others probably don’t have many good reasons to rejoice or be happy in the first place.

 _My card might be ridiculous but good thing it doesn’t show_ , he thinks as he walks in front of a tavern where the serving wench’s skin has turned purple.

He shakes his head and walks forward.

He’s _this_ close to his family again, he’s not going to dwell on what could have been any further.

\--

Before he’s let inside, he recommends the guards to treat at least Brienne like a guest – the rest of his escort was already on Roose Bolton’s orders. His father will probably pay them, even if they were no fucking good _for sure_ when it came to keep him safe or _being an escort_ in the first place.

( _While_ she _told me to get behind her because I didn’t have a sword_ , a traitorous voice tells him.)

“I _will_ ask them to free the Stark girl,” Jaime tells her before he’s to go to the throne room. “If they agree be ready to leave at once.”

“I will be ready,” Brienne replies, nodding. “You – you look happy,” she says, her voice suddenly soft in a way it has never been when talking to _him_ before.

He shrugs. “You would be happy, too, if you had waited a year to see again the – the people you love.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling _her_ that.

“I suppose I would,” she agrees, but she sounds _sad_. He’d ask why, but Ser Trant says that he should go in now, Lord Tywin and the Queen Regent and the Hand of the King are all waiting for him, and so he turns his back on her and walks as fast as he can manage without breaking into a run.

 _Finally_ , he thinks, _finally I’m back_.

\--

The throne room is _dark_ , he notices as he walks inside. It’s – strange. Why you can barely see any lights?

The first person he sees is Tyrion, who was sitting next to the throne and immediately leaves his seat and takes a few steps towards him as if he was about to _run_ , and then he thinks twice about it.

Why?

“Hells,” he says, “I see that imprisonment took _a toll_ on you, hasn’t it?”

Jaime could honestly kiss him for joking about it, but he just tries to not break down in relieved tears instead. “It wasn’t imprisonment,” he sighs. “It was – never mind. Roose Bolton’s men wanted to make sure I’d be no trouble. _I guess_.”

“ _Lord Bolton_?”

… That sounded like his father, Jaime thinks, and _now_ he notices the man cloaked in black standing up from the _other_ chair near the throne. He hadn’t noticed before, given the darkness.

“Yes, he had left them in charge of Harrenhaal. Good day, Father, by the –”

“Jaime, I have no time for _foolishness_. Lord Bolton will hear about this.”

“He _will_ – how, if I may ask?”

“Right,” Tyrion says, “I am afraid no one’s briefed him on how Lord Bolton turned his cloak on Robb Stark while you were… coming back here, I imagine? By the way, no one had been expecting you. How did _that_ happen?”

Lord Bolton _turned his cloak_ – how fucking long did it take them to reach King’s Landing? He knew about the Greyjoys (or better, _Theon Greyjoy_ ) turning their cloaks, no one in Riverrun _hadn’t_ discussed it, turnkeys included, but –

“Lady Stark.” Jaime has a feeling this is going to be harder than he had imagined. “She – she let me go with an escort of her choice.”

“You mean, that hideous woman the guard saw you coming back here with?”

Jaime’s first instinct is replying _hideous or not she did bring me back here_ , but he bites down on his tongue and refrains from asking _and where is Cersei_ instead.

Even if the question that’s _really_ bothering him right now is, _why are you all covered in black_?

“Lady Brienne was a better escort than most would have been,” Jaime hisses. “This,” he says, nodding towards his wrist, “wasn’t her fault. Anyway, the deal was that I would be exchanged for her daughters. Or at least one of them.”

“And you _accepted_?”

Jaime doesn’t know if his father has ever sounded this disappointed to his own ears, and it includes that time he informed him he was joining the Kingsguard.

“I was in mind of honoring that deal,” Jaime replies, and –

“Have you _lost your wits_?”

That wasn’t his father.

That was _Cersei_. She was standing _behind_ the throne (why?) and when she finally arrives in front of him, he can see at once that she’s changed, too. She seems to have aged some five years at once, but that’s not the starkest change. She’s still wearing one of her red and gold dresses, rich in garb, but it’s a bit looser on her than it used to be, and there’s a few lines on her face, but that’s fairly understandable.

But her _hair_ –

Well, he wouldn’t know. She has it covered in a golden cloth wrapped around her head and Jaime wonders, _was that the sickness_?

And her lovely green eyes

( _the same as his own_ )

are _cold_. And she looks… disappointed?

This is not the reunion he had imagined.

“Cersei. Why would I have _lost my wits_?”

“Because Sansa Stark leaving _now_ is absolutely out of the question.”

Since when has she sounded so _cold_? Jaime doesn’t know – she never was like this _to him_. He doesn’t ever remember her sounding this angry, not when she was talking to him at least.

“Actually, Sansa Stark leaving is entirely out of the question, period.”

“Cersei –”

“ _Out_ of it.”

He’s about to ask, _what happened_ –

Instead he raises his right arm, forgetting about his hand for a moment, and he can pinpoint the moment Cersei’s eyes turn from cold to _disgusted_ – she recoils back for a moment and then turns her back on them all and leaves the room.

 _What in the seven hells_?

“Father –” Jaime starts, hoping he might be more reasonable.

“Forget it,” comes as an answer. The man stands, and takes a few steps towards Jaime, coming into the light for a moment, and –

Jaime wants to faint.

That’s his father’s face, all right. Except that he’s not just thinner.

His entire face looks like a thrice-darned _skull_ , and the fingers barely showing from the long, large sleeves of the cloak Tywin Lannister is wearing are… thin. White.

 _Skeletal_.

“We are _not_ in any position to lose any assets. Besides, if our plan is successful, her brother doesn’t have much longer to live.”

“ _Sorry_?”

“Your brother will follow through with his duties as _Hand of the King_ and explain the situation to you. I should hope that what has just transpired can be justified with – the fact that you _obviously_ feel tired and are not yourself right now. It _better_ be justified with that, Jaime.”

Then he also turns his back on Jaime and leaves the room.

Jaime has a feeling that if the ground opened right now and swallowed him whole, it would be entirely less jarring and uncomfortable than the conversation he’s just had.

Then a small hand is tentatively touching his left wrist.

“Believe me,” Tyrion says, “I had a way better welcome in mind when I heard you were coming back.”

It’s probably a good thing that there’s no Kingsguard around them to witness Jaime pretty much dropping down into a crouch and pulling his brother to his chest.

Or that no one else related to them is around them to witness that, either, but at least _someone_ is glad he’s back.

\--

“ _What_ has Father planned?”

“I couldn’t dissuade him,” Tyrion sighs, pouring Jaime some more wine. “He might be giving me more leeway than he likes because as you’ve seen, I’m the only one out of us who can be seen in public, but when it comes to scheming I can hardly stop him. Believe me, I’m as convinced of this as you are. Anyway, since Robb Stark _needs_ Walder Frey after having mucked up his alliance when he married the Westerling girl, the plan is to lure him to the Twins with an excuse and then slaughter them all.”

“… Breaking guest right?” Jaime asks, and then downs his glass. Fuck. He’s not sober enough for this.

“That was the plan. I suppose that with this premise _maybe_ sending Sansa Stark to Riverrun isn’t in her best interest.”

 _Maybe_ , Jaime thinks, and then remembers the determined look in Brienne’s eyes when she had promised Lady Stark she’d come back with her daughter.

Seven fucking thrice-damned hells.

“By the way, _how_ is Sansa Stark faring?”

“Better than Cersei,” Tyrion snorts. “Another reason why she keeps her locked in the Kingsguard tower.”

“What? _Why_?”

“She grew wings. Mockingbird wings. They’re pretty enough, admittedly. She had it a _lot_ better than our sister, for that matter.”

“About _that_ ,” Jaime blurts after another drink, “ _what_ ’s wrong with her?”

“Not my place to tell you.” Tyrion shakes his head. “Sorry, you will have to ask her yourself. I’m not getting in between the two of you.” He sounds bitter, _of course_ he does. Jaime isn’t ever going to try and explain him _why_ he loves Cersei, same as he has stopped trying to make them get along a long time ago. He can’t even blame Tyrion for not wanting to.

“Fair. I see you were spared, though?”

“Maybe. Were you?”

 _Maybe_?

“… _Maybe_ ,” Jaime shrugs.

For a moment, they look at each other. Then Tyrion _grins_ , and it’s genuine even if it’s _tired_. “I see,” he says, “that we might have the same problem here. Does anyone know about yours?”

“Er, actually, Lady Brienne does.”

“The woman who brought you here? I should like to meet her… though maybe a few days from now,” Tyrion says.

“She only knows because I had to – to make use of my card,” Jaime says. “I mean. What – it’s embarrassing.”

“Really? Mine is _not_. No one knows, though. Given how our illustrious father and Cersei took _their_ card, I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Fine. How about, I show you mine, you show me yours and we swear to not breathe a word of it to anyone else?”

“All right,” Tyrion agrees. “You first.”

“ _What_?”

“If it’s embarrassing, you might as well get on with it so you don’t feel like you won’t match up with mine.”

Has he ever seen his brother look this _giddy_ in his life? Jaime doesn’t know, but – all right then. He sighs and moves towards the open window. He closes his eyes.

 _Come in, you bastards_ , he thinks, knowing that they _will_ regardless of how much he insults them.

He opens his eyes.

There are _three_ red butterflies flying in through the window and perching on his hand, but then a few other orange ones come in and fly right through it, perching on Tyrion’s right arm first. Then another ten or so – yellow this time – come in and perch on the left arm.

“Yes,” Jaime says before Tyrion can ask, “I’m doing _that_. If you ask me _how_ , I’ll reply _fuck if I have a clue_. Please don’t fucking laugh, it’s bad enough.”

Tyrion valiantly tries not to, but snorts once, twice, and then lets out the small laugh he had been holding in. “I can see why you would assume that,” he says, “but I could think of a lot worse.”

“Well, they were – useful, in an occasion or two,” Jaime sighs. “Anyway, that’s about it. It’s a mummer’s party trick, honestly, but I could have got a lot worse, I guess. So, I showed you. What’s your _not embarrassing_ card, then?”

“I am afraid we need to be in the Tower of the Hand for that.”

Jaime shrugs – no one’s here, he might as well do what Tyrion says. He follows him up until his chambers in the Tower of the Hand and locks the door when Tyrion asks him to. By the time he’s done, Tyrion is –

 _Undressing_?

“Tyrion, _what the hell_ –”

“Don’t worry, I won’t need to show you the family jewels. I have just a question to ask you.”

“… All right. What?”

“Tell me a color.”

“A _color_? Fine.” Jaime has no idea of where this is heading, but it’s better than thinking about his current situation. He thinks about it. “Blue,” he eventually says, and _what the hell, why he had been thinking about the exact shade of Brienne’s wings and eyes_?

He needs to talk to Cersei soon and straighten things out, he thinks, and then he forgets all about it because his brother’s skin is _turning into scales_ right in front of his eyes and –

One moment, Tyrion was in front of him. Now, there’s a small _dragon_ with elegant, long wings and shiny _blue_ scales all over its back.

For –

“ _Tyrion_?” He blurts. The dragon – _Tyrion_ – flies just under his face before lowering himself down and _nodding_.

“You’re fucking japing.”

A second later, Tyrion turns to the side and _breathes out fire._

All right, it was barely more than a flame good enough to light up a fire, but – gods. He might be a small enough dragon that it could perch on Jaime’s shoulder, but he has wings and a tail and _can breathe fire_ and given how much Tyrion _loved_ the fucking things when he was younger Jaime can’t help smiling openly for the first time in – he can’t even remember how long.

“Hells,” he says, “this is definitely _not_ embarrassing.”

A moment later, Tyrion flies away and lands in the middle of his discarded clothes – Jaime looks away as he turns back and dresses again.

“No,” Tyrion agrees. “And – I saw that your _escort_ also has a nice pair of wings?”

“She does,” Jaime agrees. “But she doesn’t use them.”

“Pity,” Tyrion declares. “Anyway, you should probably – try to get things straight with Cersei, but if you want to rest some first, you can take the Lord Commander’s apartments. They’re yours.”

“ _What_?”

“Joffrey sent Barristan away before Ned Stark’s execution. You’re the oldest member right now. And probably the only one who doesn’t have shit for brains. Since Sandor Clegane left –”

“ _Sandor Clegane_?”

“Joffrey gave him Barristan’s place even if he didn’t want it. He stayed around a while, but after he recovered from being sick he just – disappeared. No one knows where he ended up.”

Too bad, Jaime thinks. Given who greeted them when they came into the castle, he has a feeling he’d rather have Clegane than _anyone_ in the current Kingsguard.

He sighs. “Fine. I imagine there could be worse options to come back to.”

They end up having dinner in the Hand’s tower and when Jaime walks inside apartments that have been left deserted since Barristan left, first he coughs because of the amount of dust inside the room, and then barely even kicks off his shoes before dropping on the bed and trying to sleep.

Tomorrow he’s getting cleaned up, he’s shaving properly and he’s going to talk to his sister and they’re going to sort everything out.

( _And what if you don’t? Will you send the wench back to Lady Stark with a warning? Would she even make it in time_? a small voice asks insistently. He tries to tune it out.)

\--

The next day, he takes a long bath. Then he has his beard trimmed. Then he wears the clean clothes he had found in the wardrobe of the Lord Commander’s quarters – they’re all white. _Figures_. By the time he’s done, white cloak tied around his neck (by someone else – he needs to find _something_ to replace his hand with before he dies of shame) and heart feeling heavier than he could imagine, especially given what he’s setting out to do, he feels like the worst jape in existence.

 _Him_ , commanding the Kingsguard.

As if. When he was fifteen, he might have dreamed of it. Right now, he just feels like he has done exactly nothing to deserve it, even if he will never, _ever_ regret Aerys.

He slams the door behind him and heads straight for Cersei’s quarters.

\--

“Cersei,” he says, closing the door behind him. She’s wearing a black gown, one that _fits_ her. It’s laced in golden thread, a contrast to his own white clothes. It’s cut low, baring her shoulders and the top of her breasts, and while she’s still thin and it’s plain weird to see her with her head still covered by gold cloth, she’s still breathtakingly beautiful, to _him_ at least.

He wants to move forward and hold her, he _does_ , but her eyes are cold and so he doesn’t even try.

Not after how she reacted to the sight of his wrist yesterday.

“Look at you,” she almost spits. Why does she look _angry_?

“Look at _me_ ,” he retorts, unable to keep the disappointment from his tone. “I have looked at myself plenty enough. And I was hoping – yesterday was _not_ what I had imagined in this last year.”

“Poor you,” she replies, green eyes blazing with – anger? _Why_? “Surely I had not imagined you coming in and talking about _freeing Sansa Stark_ as the first item on your list.”

“Given that it’s the reason why I’m here in the first place, and that we were in front of _our father_ , I could hardly do otherwise now, could I?”

“And that was _all_ you had to say. Not a word for your _son_.”

“Joffrey was my _seed_ and you took care to remind me to never think of him as otherwise. Didn’t you?” Not that, in retrospective, Jaime thinks he lost much, but still, why is she throwing that back at him when it was _her_ idea?

“It was to keep them _and_ you safe! How would it have looked if you had played the father to the king’s children? What if Robert found out?”

 _I’d have killed him with my bare hands, probably_. “What if? Do you think I ever felt ashamed of loving you? Maybe I’d have let kingslaying become a habit, as he was so fond of saying.”

She laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh. It’s ugly. It’s _bitter_.

“Oh, you never did. I imagine you think you wouldn’t feel ashamed _now_ , would you?”

“What in the – Cersei, if it’s about whatever the sickness did to you, _I don’t care_.” He wouldn’t. He knows he wouldn’t. He loves her, and she’ll never _not_ be beautiful to him, whatever it is that happened.

“So you say,” she replies. “Then prove it.”

“ _How_?”

“The situation is dire. Even if Robb Stark is taken out, Stannis and Renly are still siding together and Renly is – too bad – still married to Margaery Tyrell. We have the Greyjoys on our side, sure, but it’s not enough. And Bolton turned his cloak once, you never know.”

“Very well. So what?”

“Father wants you to leave the Kingsguard and marry Sansa Stark.”

Jaime feels as if a bucket of ice was just thrown over his head.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“If you marry her and Robb Stark dies, and if his brothers are dead like Lord Bolton assures us of, then Winterfell is _ours_.”

“I’m not leaving the Kingsguard,” he replies without even thinking about it twice. He hadn’t known how much he _didn’t_ want to leave it until right now, but the prospect of marrying Sansa Stark when he has crippled her brother (and doesn’t he feel ashamed of it _now_ ) and when it seems like his entire family bar Tyrion wants to plan the treacherous death of the rest of _her_ family is making his stomach turn, and –

_I am sorry for thinking you were an insult to the cloak you wear without knowing the full story._

Oh, he _would_ be an insult to it now if he accepted, wouldn’t it?

“Jaime, it’s necessary. The Kingsguard –”

“I joined it _also for you_!” He surprises himself when he doesn’t even try to lower his voice, but he just – he can’t even conceive this entire plan. He can’t. “I joined it to be with _you_ , not to be with a girl not even flowered who’s less than half my years!” And _because I wanted to be a true knight_ , but he doesn’t voice that thought. “I love _you_ , I have never had another and I am not planning to start _now_. Seeing Robert with you was enough but I understand it was a necessary evil. I am _not_ doing the same.”

“Well, too bad. No one would want _me_ now and giving her to Tyrion would just cement his claim to the Rock, and neither I nor Father want it –”

“Oh, because _he_ would be such a bad choice? And who said _no one_ would want you now? I –”

She laughs again, bitterly and sad, and then she tears off the cloth covering her head.

Then, Jaime understands _why_ she’s that bitter about her card, and why she covers the hair in the first place.

Instead of the long, luscious, long golden hair that used to frame her lovely face, there’s… an unruly mass of tow, of a hideous gray color and which looks completely unkempt. He moves closer, brushes his fingers against it, and – well, shit, for being _tow_ it’s… tough. It feels like damned iron under his fingers rather than fabric, even if it bends if you push it downwards – that’s how it stays hidden, probably.

He has a feeling that any blade that might try to cut it would end up ruined instead, or Cersei wouldn’t have kept it. She’d have rather shaved her head completely, he _knows_ , but –

But who in the seven hells cares? It’s just hair. It changes nothing. He thinks he understands why it affects _her_ so, she always was so proud of her hair, but he didn’t love her _hair_. He loves _her_.

“I don’t care,” he says, after considering it a moment. It feels _terrible_ to the touch, true, but who cares? He doesn’t have to touch her hair. He doesn’t _care_ –

“Oh, _really_. Then why won’t you do the one thing that would help me when I need it the most?”

“ _You_ need it? How can you _need_ me to marry fucking Sansa Stark? How can you _need me_ married to someone else?”

“Oh, you would just have to make sure she has your child, and then you can be done with her for how much everyone would care. We need Winterfell, and we need to play the cards right. We aren’t winning this war. I already sacrificed enough for –”

“ _You_ sacrificed – Cersei, I _gave up Casterly Rock for you_! And because I wanted to be in the Kingsguard, but if I don’t have _you_ then I don’t even fucking want the Rock. Tyrion can have it, for all I care.”

“But you _would_ have me!”

“Oh, _on the side_ , the same way you had _me_ when you were married to Robert? Or the same way you’d have had me if you had married Rhaegar or anyone else? And I should put a girl, whose family _we_ all somehow contributed to kill, in what’s been _my_ position for years?”

“You didn’t have such scruples when you pushed her brother from a tower though, didn’t you? Something you wouldn’t have ever _had_ to do if you had just gone hunting with them like –”

“Do you think I _enjoyed it_? I felt ashamed as I was doing it and I feel ashamed of it _now_ , and I cannot be any better if I _marry his bloody sister_ now, can I? Cersei, _please_ –”

He reaches out with his right arm, not thinking, _again_ , and his bandaged stump brushes against the top of her breast.

She recoils at once, a look of pure disgust passing over her face, and while a moment later she _obviously_ schools her features into something more neutral –

But he still has seen it, hasn’t he?

“Cersei, you don’t need to pretend if it _disgusts_ you so,” he spits.

“Jaime, it doesn’t –”

“Cersei, for – I saw it. It was obvious. I only ever saw you looking at Tyrion like that, but it was… not _as much_. You don’t have to lie.”

“What, you’re _disappointed_?”

“Given that I just told you that I’d have you regardless of whatever happened to you or your hair or your face _maybe_ I am?”

“He sounds _angry_ now,” she sighs, and then reaches for her golden cloth. She covers up her hair quickly, practiced, _both_ hands tying the knot deftly. Something _he_ could never do, now. “An angry cripple, how terrifying. A pity that out of all our father’s heirs, the only one who has what it takes is _me_. Very well, have it your way. Sansa Stark is _not_ leaving this castle and her useless brother will die soon. See where your stubbornness leaves you. You can leave.”

“Gladly,” he spits, and then turns his back on her and slams the door even louder. Who cares if anyone hears him, there’s barely servants around – he has a feeling Cersei doesn’t want deformed people around the castle but finding any these days would be complicated. Wouldn’t it?

He runs down the stairs and heads straight for the gardens. He needs fresh air and to be _alone_ for a moment because he’s really not feeling like talking to anyone right now, damn it –

And that’s when he almost slams into a curtain of blue feathers.

“I’m –” Brienne starts, turning towards him, and then she goes red in the face. “Ser – Ser Jaime.”

“Wench,” he replies, but doesn’t try to keep the fondness from his tone. Maybe he can handle being around _her_ out of everyone. “I see you’re not keeping those things hunched?”

She shrugs, and he notices that she’s… wearing a _dress_? It’s blue, better than that pink rag Vargo Hoat had made her wear, and she has made holes in it so that it’d fit the wings, so she probably didn’t care much for it in the first place.

“I –” She starts. “When we were in the bear pit. I realized that if I just could have _used them_ I could have flied out of there or flown _us_ out of there. And instead I just thought they were some kind of jape and another problem on top of – more. You were right. So – I spent yesterday and today here.”

“And how is it going?”

“Better than I thought,” she admits, her cheeks still slightly red.

“Well, that dress also suits you better than the other one. Blue’s a good color on you, _my lady_. Goes well with your eyes.”

She glances down at herself, then shrugs. “Thank you. The septa said you sent her.”

“Figured it was the least, given that I’m afraid I can’t keep my vows.” It comes out _bitter_ , though. Way more bitter than he had imagined.

For a moment, he expects her to be disappointed, but instead those large, pretty blue eyes of hers take a _worried_ expression. She moves closer.

“What happened?” She asks.

He wants to cry. She sounds – _understanding_?

“Nothing I couldn’t have assumed. My father and my sister don’t want to let Sansa Stark go lest they lose the last pawn they have over the Starks while Tywin Lannister is plotting to fucking _murder_ Robb Stark and his mother and half of his army, and actually my sister insists that I should _marry_ her so that Winterfell is ours whatever Roose Bolton decides to do with his alliances.” Shit, why, _why_ is he telling _her_ all over again?

She looks _horrified_ at what he just said, but – she doesn’t seem disgusted at _him_ , at least?

“They’re plotting to _murder_ –”

“With Walder Frey. But I think it’s well-underway. And they won’t let us send any ravens, and if I let you go now – well, you wouldn’t get there fast enough. Never mind that I have a feeling I’d have to smuggle you out.”

For a long moment neither of them says a word. He’s expecting her to go or to be disappointed, and she’d have every right to be ( _since when he cares_?) but then her hand tentatively touches his shoulder.

“That – that is not all, is it?”

“ _What_ –”

“You – you said your sister wants you to marry the girl. From what you said in the bath – I mean –”

He wants to laugh now. Great. She’s known him for less than two months and she understands it at once while Cersei’s been separated from him for a year and she doesn’t even want to look at him anymore because of her dumb, irrelevant wild card?

“She – she always used to say we were one half of the same person. That we were mirrors,” he whispers, not even thinking about what he’s saying. “I – I think she’s not of that same mind anymore.”

“For – for _that_?” She says, looking at his hand. He shrugs.

“Maybe. I think – I think it’s because she lost _another_ part of herself she was very attached to, albeit less useful than _a right hand_. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.”

He doesn’t know why he’s telling _her_ , damn it, he has no reason to except that she said, _I’m sorry I judged you before I knew the full story_ , and she doesn’t seem too repulsed to stare at him right now, and then –

“I wouldn’t even know what to say,” she says quietly. “I – I have no experience with – in – the last time someone asked for my hand, it was on condition I gave up sword and armor.”

“What did you do?”

“I said I’d marry just someone who’d best me. I beat them bloody.”

That brings a smile to his lips. “Somehow, it’s not surprising.”

Her cheeks blush even further. “But – if you want a distraction – maybe – Ser, would you trust me for a short while?”

“Wench, I think that after that bear pit I _can_. Why? And yes, I can use a distraction.”

“I – I said I tried to… well, get adjusted to the wings.”

“You did.”

“Turns out… the moment I stopped fighting it, it wasn’t so hard anymore.”

She holds out her arms, awkwardly, and Jaime suddenly understands what she means.

She’s not proposing to –

 _To_ –

He takes a couple of step forwards and walks right up to where she is. Her arm locks around his waist and then is joined by the other, and it’s an _iron_ grip. But it’s not hard. It’s… gentle, but firm. _The same way it had been in the bath_.

“I think you should hold on,” she says quietly. He puts his own arms around her large shoulders – shit, they’re _larger than his own_ – and grips at the back of her dress.

Then he sees the wings flapping once, twice, thrice, and then –

Then his feet aren’t on the ground anymore.

He looks downwards and –

Gods, they’re flying. The wings are keeping a slow, steady motion and Brienne’s not moving or going any higher, but _they’re flying_ and – he thinks his head is spinning, but in all the _good_ ways.

“Hells,” he whispers, “can you go higher?”

“I think I could,” she replies, sounding – _pleased_. “On my own, I could.”

“As long as you swear you’re not going to let me drop, I think you can try going higher with _someone else_ , wench.”

She takes in a deep, long breath and then she does, still slowly but steadily, and – _seven hells_ , it’s just – seeing the garden and the castle become smaller and smaller with each passing moment is somehow _liberating_ , and fuck, it’s _nice_. It’s sort of cold up here, but Brienne is warmer than anyone has any right to be, her gorgeous blue wings are still flapping nicely and steadily and her grip on him hasn’t faltered for a second.

He needs to ask Tyrion if flying is always _this_ breathtaking.

He’d probably say yes.

“Is the distraction working?” She asks, barely audible.

“Hells, _yes_ ,” he blurts back. “How long do you think you can do this?”

She shrugs minutely. “ _Jaime_ , I think I can do it for a very long time.”

He doesn’t tell her that he’s inordinately pleased she used his damned name without anything else attached to it for reasons he doesn’t even want to ponder.

“Good,” he says. “I think I can use being distracted for a while longer.”

Gods, his cloak is _flying into the air_ , they must look ridiculous, but he doesn’t think he gives a damn.

“You know,” he says, feeling strangely lightheaded, “I hadn’t known I wanted to stay in the Kingsguard _that_ badly until this very day.”

Her lips curl upwards in a sympathetic smile.

“You said blue was my color, before.”

“I might have. So?”

“I – I happen to think white could definitely be yours.”

 _And it would be yours more than mine_ , _I fear_ , Jaime doesn’t tell her, and then he says nothing because he doesn’t want to say something stupid or do something even more stupid that might make her lose her footing, and keeps his mouth shut until he feels her arms shaking with effort and she glides down gently towards the garden.

When his feet touch the ground, he feels a _lot_ better than he had before.

“Thanks,” he tells her earnestly. “ _Do_ go down in history as the only legitimate flying knight of Westeros or you’ll do any decent singer a disservice.”

She laughs at that, _for real_ , not halfway, and for a moment he thinks, _she looks a bit like she had in my dream_.

“Very well,” she says, “I shall try. But I think _we_ should do something else, instead.”

“As in?”

“Freeing Sansa Stark might prove impossible, but I am sure that in between the two of us we can find a way to warn Lady Stark, can’t we?”

She sounds so hopeful, and as if she trusts him to actually deliver on that, and fuck it all, he _had_ wanted to keep that damned oath to Lady Stark, hadn’t he?

Never mind that –

“I think,” he says, “that it might be _three_ of us.”

“Three?”

“My brother doesn’t like that prospect either. I should have introduced you before. Come on, let’s see if I have some last chance for honor or if it’s all in vain.”

\--

Jaime _had_ imagined that Tyrion and the wench would get along when introduced, so that’s _not_ what surprises him.

What surprises him is that when she seriously tells his brother what their target here is, Tyrion first _laughs_ and then smiles like someone who’s… honestly happy?

“I think,” he says, “that no one told you about this raven that I just read this morning. Thankfully they sent two copies.”

“What happened to the first one? And _who_ sent it?”

“Robb Stark sent it, and Father ripped it into pieces. Here, have it. I’ll admit that I am very pleased to see his scheming backfire.”

Jaime takes the raven, and –

“Wench,” he says after reading it, “I think we can rest without regrets tonight.”

“What happened?”

“Robb Stark _somehow_ found out about Father’s plot, and he’s obviously rescinding all alliances with the Freys and whatnot. On top of that, Theon Greyjoy has _again_ turned his cloak, or… well, I don’t know, but _he_ ’s definitely in Riverrun and it looks like he’s back on Stark’s side, which means that now our egregious King in the North knows at least _some_ of Father’s plans.”

Brienne lets out a relieved breath, and as she does Jaime realizes something else.

“Damn,” he says, “I guess this is the nail in _our_ coffin though, isn’t it?”

“Well,” Tyrion agrees, “if now Robb Stark does what any sensible person does and plays nice and allies with Stannis and Renly, we have no hopes to even put on resistance if they assault the city. Most of the army is _dead_ and most of what’s left is useless, and the few people who aren’t – well, they didn’t draw any kind of card that would make us win a battle, especially against _all_ of them.”

“I suppose neither Cersei nor Father will want to hear it, will they?”

“Are you japing?”

“Right. Wench, have you heard this conversation?”

“I’m _right here_ …?”

“Good, because when they arrive here we’ll need you to testify that _we_ were about to turn our cloak here. The last thing I want is Robb Stark taking my damned head.”

“That’s _not_ amusing,” she says, looking as if she’s not really appreciating his poor jokes about the subject.

“Everything can be amusing with some effort. Well, then I guess we’ll just have to wait for our inevitable demise. And I am afraid I will have to introduce you to the rest of the court.”

“Good thing I arranged your daughter’s marriage to Trystane Martell,” Tyrion sighs, “at least she’ll be out of this disaster when we meet our inevitable demise.”

“My –”

“Jaime, _please_ , I know that, _she_ most probably knows that and there are exactly _twenty_ servants in the entirely of the Red Keep these days because finding any more without obvious malformations isn’t an option. If you had told me the day would come when Cersei would find _someone else_ more abhorrent than me a few years ago, I’d have laughed in your face.”

Jaime doesn’t even try to tell him to tone it down.

Not after this morning.

\--

His father does _not_ show up for lunch, nor dinner, nor the next lunch.

Cersei is _livid_ , and it only gets worse when Brienne joins them for the first time. She’s keeping the wings sort of kept back, but she’s not letting them drag anymore. Good.

“Oh,” Cersei says when Brienne introduces herself, “so _you_ ’re the one who brought my brother back here in _one piece_?”

Brienne openly flinches at the jab, but doesn’t fall for it. “I did my best,” she replies, her voice so steady Jaime admires her for it. “I swore an oath and I did what I could to keep it.”

“I don’t doubt it. Well, you can stand. Those _things_ must be heavy, aren’t they?”

“Less than one would assume, if one knows how to carry them,” Brienne replies, staring _straight_ at her, and Jaime doesn’t know how she’s keeping herself this calm.

Dinner is a nightmare – poor Tommen is not even trying to give any input to the conversation, drowning in his cloak and with the too-heavy crown lying on the corner of the table and he obviously wants to be _anywhere but here_. Cersei keeps on making jabs at Brienne or her wings or both without even hiding it and Brienne just shrugs and goes on eating and only speaks when prompted, and at one point when Jaime’s served a _full_ piece of steak he feels like dying of shame, because _how is he going to cut it_ –

Brienne grabs her fork and nonchalantly sticks it in the meat so that he can cut it.

“How _charitable_ of you,” Cersei notices, not even trying to let the two of them get away with that in silence.

Brienne shrugs again. “Given that he _did_ manage to save my life while we were coming here, _without_ a hand, I think I can afford to be charitable.”

Jaime’s so surprised by the outburst that he knocks over his glass of wine with his right wrist.

A moment later, Tyrion _willingly_ knocks his own over.

When everyone else turns to look at him, he shrugs. “I thought you might appreciate some company.”

Jaime goes back to cutting his meat for everyone’s peace of mind and then he catches Cersei sending Brienne a look that’s pure _envy_ mixed with something like resentment and –

 _Oh_ , he thinks, _I think I know what’s wrong here_.

After all, given how his sister has taken the state of her hair, maybe – maybe _she’d rather have the wings_.

Brienne said she thought they were _some kind of jape_ and now Jaime thinks he can guess why. She probably assumed that it was some kind of cosmic jape that someone _ugly_ such as she is would get the gorgeous, large wings, same as Cersei hates that that same cosmic jape ruined her beloved hair.

Jaime wants to laugh. He really wants to.

He concentrates on cutting the meat instead.

\--

Throughout the next few days, things – go downhill. He leaves the castle to check the situation in the former Flea Bottom and comes back wanting to vomit and to ask both Cersei and his father _what are they thinking_ letting jokers starve in there, Cersei keeps on keeping him at arm’s length and she can’t bear to look at him if she can see his missing hand, there isn’t a smith in King’s Landing who can make him a fake hand _now_ because _they’re all dead or turned_ and they lost their businesses, the rest of the Kingsguard is useless and on top of that, someone breaks into the kitchen and steals a _lot_ of their food reserves.

Jaime isn’t surprised that the next day he has news that suddenly a lot of people in the former Flea Bottom found food in front of their doors.

Whoever that was, they must have been _good_ since no one heard them coming in and out, and his fellow Kingsguard members are useless – three days later, they have no lead. His father can barely leave his rooms because if he runs into _anyone_ they’ll scream at this point – he’s all skeleton by now –, he’s ran into Tommen crying openly in the empty throne room more than once and he’s never felt _so damned useless in his life_.

And with all of that, Cersei _still_ won’t let Sansa Stark out of the damned tower nor let anyone near it.

The day they get a raven informing them that Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark put an army together and are marching towards King’s Landing, he feels fucking relieved. Better to put an end to this agony, especially when they aren’t equipped for offering the people or _anyone_ else any better options.

He can see the campfires from the Stark/Baratheon camp on the evening when he calls Brienne in his quarters. He just wrote an entry for himself in the White Book just so that it’s put black on white that he _has_ been a Lord Commander, even for just a few days, and just because _she_ brought him here.

“Honestly,” he tells her, “I just want them to arrive here and be done with it. Hopefully they’ll let me take the black.”

She grimaces. “You might be wasted up there.”

“Given the state of my hand, they’d only take me because they’re desperate for men.”

She _looks_ at him and shakes her head, then walks up to the window he’s standing next to.

“What are your brother’s plans?”

“Surrender and assure them that if they let him have the Rock he won’t even think about contesting their claims. He can be convincing. As far as I’m concerned, I doubt it’ll be that easy. _I_ didn’t return Lady Sansa to her family now, did I?”

“What if _I_ talked to Lady Stark?”

“And tell her what?”

“That you tried your best and you don’t deserve the Wall. Or to die.”

“You’re _really_ convinced of that, aren’t you?”

She shrugs. “I know you don’t deserve either. And I know you’re a better man than you’d like to admit to anyone. Yourself first and foremost.”

He wants to ask her how can she be so sure.

But then she moves even closer.

“Jaime,” she whispers, “I don’t think you understand what it means to me that someone thinks that me _not being in a song would be a crime against singers_. Or what it means to me that you’d come back and jump into that bear pit for me. I _will_ talk to Lady Stark.”

“It’s going to be useless,” he sighs, reaching out a hand towards her outstretched wing. She nods a tiny bit and he starts running his fingers through the soft, downy feathers. “But thank you nonetheless.”

“Oh, _it won’t be_.”

Good thing she’s so sure, he thinks. At least one of them is.

\--

Turns out, Robb Stark _is_ reasonable.

Of course, he has to leave the Kingsguard – because Stannis Baratheon wouldn’t have _him_ , and being in Robb Stark’s would be fairly hilarious. But Brienne is convincing and Sansa Stark _does_ vouch for Tyrion saying that he was one of the few people who hadn’t agreed with locking her in that damned tower, and of course the pacts require that _Tyrion_ inherits. But it’s quite all right. Jaime can live without it – he never really _wanted_ the Rock anyway.

Cersei ended up imprisoned in that same tower she had put Sansa in, for the moment. Jaime isn’t too surprised about that, either. At least both Robb Stark and Stannis agreed to send Tommen with Tyrion to the Rock – he’ll be better off there.

He’s packing up his (fairly meager, all things considered) belongings when he hears a knock on the door.

Of course, it’s _her_. She’s wearing new, clean clothes, always men’s garb, and has her sword at her side but not the armor.

“Where are you planning to go?” She asks, softly.

“Fuck if I know,” he shrugs. “I have no bloody idea. I’m not staying _here_ though. And I’m not feeling like going to Casterly either.”

She bites her lip. “I talked to Lady Stark and her son,” she says.

“I _know_ , or I wouldn’t be here.”

“They – it seems like the ravens from the Wall were all true.”

“The ones about the _white Walkers_?”

“Indeed,” Brienne agrees. “I was – I was thinking, now that the situation’s calm here, maybe going _there_ would be more useful after all.”

He should say, _go and be the true knight you were always meant to be_. Instead –

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I was thinking, maybe you would want to come along?”

She sounds…. _Hopeful_?

This is not what Jaime had been expecting at all.

“What – you’re asking _me_?”

“I couldn’t think of anyone better suited.” She sounds _serious_ , good gods.

“Brienne, I’m – _seriously_?”

“You can still be useful. You have battle experience. And honestly, your card isn’t _so_ useless, as we’ve seen –”

“Don’t ever remind me,” he sighs, and then he doesn’t even roll his eyes when a few butterflies fly in through the window. By now he’s adjusted to the damned small flying beasts doing whatever the hell they want even if in theory he’s controlling them.

( _Or maybe they’re doing whatever in the seven hells he wants them to do even if he doesn’t realize it. He’s taken the option into consideration and then he has stopped thinking about it the moment he started doing it._ )

“It’s _not_ ,” she insists. The butterflies – all blue – perch on her shoulder. Given that she has the wings out, she’s making quite an interesting picture.

And then – then her wings _move_ and curl towards him, the tip covering the side of his face. Brienne’s face blushes red at once.

“Wench, what –”

“They’re doing it on their own,” she replies, sort of sheepish, and –

 _On their own_?

Jaime takes a few steps forward, leaving the clothes he had been holding. The wings _curl around his shoulders,_ not wholly, but –

“Brienne, did you just say _–_?”

“Yes,” she replies, sounding mortified.

And she’s not quite looking at him.

And she just asked him to pretty much _go on a quest to slay mythical evil creatures_ –

And her wings are _doing that on their own_.

It doesn’t take a genius to reach a conclusion here. After all, he _has_ considered that maybe the damned butterflies do things on their own because _he_ wants them to. And if it’s the case then he’s being cradled in soft, blue feathers because Brienne wants it regardless of how much she wouldn’t actually go as far as doing it herself.

Honestly, one would be have to be really daft to not guess _why_ someone with wings might want to wrap them around your shoulders, and Jaime doesn’t like to think he’s daft. He’s a lot of things he doesn’t necessarily like and hadn’t wished to be years ago, but he wants to hope fucking stupid isn’t one of them.

And – he wants to laugh at how it seems to be somewhat appropriate, given that she’s fucking _brought him flying over the Red Keep_ and that they were willing to risk their life for each other at a point when they weren’t even supposed to _like_ each other a tiny bit. But damn it, she’s blushing still the way maidens do in songs all the time, and Jaime – Jaime doesn’t even think about it. Only someone stupid would throw away what he has in front of him.

He steps forward, presses his lips against hers and _at once_ the wings curl around the two of them and he’s engulfed in warm, downy blue feathers.

For a moment, she stands still.

Then _she kisses back_ , tentatively but so sweetly his heart skips a beat or two, her wings still cradling him close. Well then, he was right, wasn’t he?

Jaime smiles into the kiss, and then doesn’t move away until he has to breathe. Brienne’s hands are clutching at his arms and those blue butterflies are still perching over her shoulders – she looks shocked in a fairly good way, though, and as if she can’t quite believe it really happened. He thinks he should kiss her again just to prove his point, but there’s something he has to ask her first.

“I will come with you, but I have a condition.”

“As – as in?”

“Just if you fly me _some_ of the way there, or it would be a darned pity, wouldn’t it?”

The wings close around him a bit tighter and she smiles a bit, her crooked teeth showing in between her lips, but it’s genuine and it’s lovely and if you asked him how it compared to his sister’s, he’d reply that he can’t remember the last time he saw Cersei smile like that, if she ever did.

“All the way might be a problem, but I think it would be easy enough to make it happen.”

“Should I take it as a serious oath?” He’s joking, really, but –

“I think it’s an oath I can safely swear,” she replies, and now she’s sort of openly smirking as her hands curl gently around his wrists. She can probably feel how his pulse has quickened, but it’s no matter. He has a feeling it’s the same for her. He smiles back.

Right now, he can’t think of a better option than going to the Wall with her.

He really can’t.

End.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's interested about what mutations featured here were in the original Wild Cards canon:
> 
> \- Tywin has Charles Dutton's;  
> \- Tyrion has the upgraded-to-dragon version of Kid Dinosaur's;  
> \- Sansa and Brienne have Peregrine's;  
> \- He's not *technically* in this fic but Sandor has Black Shadow's.
> 
> Every other one was made up by me for better or worse xD


End file.
